3 Days
by je.field.7
Summary: A young woman has only a few days left to live after being bitten by a walker and has to help herself and her loved ones come to grips with her unfortunate fate. UPDATED! Story has been updated so that it is now set between seasons 2 and 3 of the show, while Rick and the others are spending the winter circling Atlanta.
1. Chapter 1

Day 0 - Bitten

It wasn't the pain that woke me up, but the smell. Oh god, that awful smell. It's one of those things that you can't really describe to a person, but when you've smelled it once, you would recognize it in a heartbeat. I grew up on a small farm with chickens and the like, where you would lose a hen occasionally, so I knew that smell. I would know it anywhere.

It was the smell of death.

….

A young girl was laughing. She was towards the back of the group with her older, teenage sister. 15 was too young to become responsible for another life, but then, life wasn't fair anymore, if it ever really was. Sophia was her name, I think. Or was that the name of the little girl the older woman had lost. I say older, but she was probably only in her late thirties, early forties. Maybe both girls had the same name. Huh. I bet that was tough on the woman, if that was the case.

My feet ached, my shoulders ached, and the sun was beating down on us so that I could feel the back of my neck blistering and sweat running down my spine and leaving damp spots under my arms and bra. What I wouldn't give for some sunscreen. I supposed I should've been irritated that the little girl was laughing, worried that such loud noises could give away our position and put our lives at risk, but I was too tired to care. I found myself cracking a small smile instead. That's what we were doing this all for, right? Why we were struggling and fighting to survive. So children could have something to laugh about again. I shrugged inwardly. Sounds like as good a reason as any, I suppose. Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the hour.

….

I jerked awake with a soft gasp. Glenn and Maggie were still asleep beside me on the full size bed. Through the laundry we had strung up between the four bedposts, I could catch glimpses of the moon. It wasn't very bright, not quite half full, but it was enough for my night-adjusted eyes to see that someone was sleeping with their head resting against the window sill. The older woman with the cropped hair, I think. Only that far corner of the room was illuminated, though. The rest of the room was deep in shadow, including where I slept by the open bedroom door. I could hear someone breathing heavily to my left. I shifted my eyes to scan further in the corner, and hesitated. Why was someone to my left? That was between me and the door. There shouldn't be anyone sleeping on that side of the bed. Glenn's side, maybe, but not mine. I was frozen, couldn't move, the hair on the back of my neck and arms standing on end like the hackles on a scared dog. That smell. It was so strong. I could taste bile in the back of my throat. A walker.

….

"All right guys, that apartment building there looks promising. You know the drill. Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and I will go first, call for backup if we run into any walkers. Phil, Lawrence, and Suarez will watch the perimeter. Everybody else, stay near the doors and keep your eyes and ears open."

"Sir, yes, sir," Phil mumbled under his breath. I shot him an ugly look, but he didn't notice. I didn't care much for him, but he didn't care much for any of the rest of us, so I didn't feel bad about that. He was older, nearing 70 I think, with a slight beer belly and salt and pepper hair. He had a decent beard going, as well. There was just something about him that rubbed me the wrong way, though. Not sure what it was. He had been leading a group of four when we met up with them a short while ago and he wasn't adjusting well to Rick's leadership now. Three of us had been traveling together to Atlanta, rumors of the CDC working on a cure here and refugee camps for those resilient enough to have survived this long. Instead, when we got to Atlanta, all we found were walkers. A lot of them. There were others, too. That was my group. I was in my late twenties, blonde, professional, a couple out of graduate school. I wasn't overly pretty or thin, but I took care of myself, exercised, ate right, and I looked respectable enough. Well, before the zombies came, or walkers, as some of the others call them. The other two in my group were Suarez and Lawrence. Suarez was a young latino guy with tattoos covering his forearms and a shaved head. He was actually pretty nice after he got to know you and trust you. And he could tell some stories that would have you in stitches, tears rolling down your face. He had been in college when the shit hit the fan. Working on his business degree. I could see him now, moving towards the corner of the 8-story apartment building Rick had targeted as where we would sleep tonight. Suarez's roommate, Lawrence, had been our third person. He was more mainstream in appearance than Suarez, came from a family with old money. Lawrence had been in the same program as Suarez and, despite their apparent differences, had hit it off straight away. Lawrence was moving to the corner of the perimeter closer to me and gave me a slight nod when he noticed I was looking at him.

"Doing all right, Leese? Your shoulders and neck are looking pretty rough." I grunted, feeling the heat rising off my skin in waves. Winter was officially over and this day had ended up being unseasonably hot. I hadn't been prepared.

"They feel pretty rough." Lawrence made a sound of acknowledgement. It was funny how simple communication became when you were reduced to fighting for your life every second of every day.

"Maybe Doc has some aloe vera or sunscreen or something. You should ask him," he said, pausing. He fixed me with a sideways look, his eyes glinting a little. "Wouldn't want you getting skin cancer. Hell of a way to die." I let out a short bark of laughter, too tired for much else, as I reached for the bottle of water clipped to my hip. I took a swig, spilling a little down my chin in my haste, and offered some to Lawrence. He eagerly drained what was left, but I didn't mind. I knew he'd have my back the next time around. I had a fondness for 'my guys', as I liked to call them in the privacy of my thoughts. Once I had set down clear boundaries with them early on, we had never had any issues. I had been on my own for several weeks and had known I couldn't make it much longer without some help. I respected them and they respected me. They knew I must have something vital to offer if I had been on my own that long, too. I couldn't even tell you how long we had traveled together, just the three of us, not seeing another human being.

Then we reached Atlanta, where we met the two sisters (they had lost their parents a week before), Phil, and Kelly (a woman around her mid-thirties, very pretty, and used to a softer way of life). We hadn't had much time to get to know them before getting overwhelmed by the walkers and holing up inside a nearby shop. A group passing by the city must've heard us and came to help us out. They had mentioned vehicles, but hadn't brought them into the city with them. Rick was their leader, from a small town sheriff's department. He was a good-looking guy nearing 40 with a pre-teen son and a very pregnant wife, Lori. Daryl was around Rick's age, and not so bad looking himself, with that rugged, good ol' boy look to him. Maggie and Glenn were an item. That was apparent straight off. They were both about my age. Maggie was a bit thinner than me with short brown hair and traveled with her father, the one Lawrence nicknamed 'Doc' on account of him being the only medically-trained person in the bunch, and younger sister, a tiny, fragile-looking little blonde thing. Glenn was a sort-of geeky, Asian guy, but smart and resourceful. That much was easy to see. Carol, the woman with cropped gray hair who had lost her daughter and husband to the walkers, was also with them. And then there was T Dog. He was a little older than me, African American, as if the name didn't give that away, and solidly built.

It had been a week since our three groups had merged together, Rick retaining his unspoken role as point-man, but it was slow going with Lori nearly due and the sheer number of walking dead to contend with. She only had about a month to go. Lawrence handed me back my bottle, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he turned his gaze to Suarez. I stood watching the little girl and her sister hover near the building, the older one digging around in her pack for something it seemed like the little girl had asked for. Maggie's sister attended to her father as he leaned up against the side of the brick building to catch his breath. Carol was busy fusing over Lori. I hoped she wasn't going to drop that baby early, the way she was struggling to catch hey breath. Lawrence must've seen the concern cross my face because he reached over to squeeze my upper arm, reassuring me. I forced a half smile and moved into the shade of the building. It would take awhile for them to sweep the buidling, since they would go room by room, making sure we were free of zombies, as well as keeping an eye out for potential supplies.

…...

Like I said, it wasn't the pain that woke me up, but the pain is sure what got me moving. I couldn't process what was happening until I felt the sharp sting in my side, just under my ribs. I yelped and jumped sideways into Maggie's lap. She yelled, startled out of her sleep. I cried out as I felt something tear through stomach, the nerves in my side on fire. Maggie let out a blood-curdling scream. Glenn was on his feet, grabbing under his pack for something, a weapon I was guessing. I couldn't take my eyes off the monster that had gotten the slip on me, or rather, the space where I knew it was. I pressed myself into the headboard, Maggie to my right keeping me from backpedaling off the side of the bed. Her hands gripped my shoulders tightly. It was the smacking sound that held me transfixed. My brain was processing too slowly tonight and it had already been my undoing. Then the zombie leaned forward, into a lighter patch, reaching for me, and I could see its face, its half-open mouth, and between its teeth, something rubbery that it was gnawing on. There was fresh blood around its mouth. With horror I realized that I was watching it eating me. It was chewing on the piece of flesh it had ripped from my side, and I could've sworn it was smiling at me as it did so.

I couldn't move, could hardly catch my breath. I registered people screaming and yelling. The walker's fingers reached for me and I just sat there and watched, like it was happening to someone else. An arrow erupted from the walker's temple accompanied with a squishing sound as the creature's brain was damaged, rendering it harmless. Its body collapsed on the bed beside me, its fingers touching my calf. I still didn't move. It had bitten me. It didn't make any sense. All this time, all this effort to stay sharp and alert, just to have it end like this. Not in some glorious battle saving someone's life, but asleep in bed, my brain so frozen with terror that I couldn't even move out of the thing's way. All I had to do was move and I didn't. Oh god, that's it then. I'm dead. Just like that. One stupid fucking mistake and it's over. That's all I could think as the commotion continued around me. Maggie still clung to my shoulders, the darkness momentarily concealing my injury from the others. Who would be the one to do it, then? Who would end me? When they realized I was going to get sick and turn into one of them. Flashlight beams were playing over the bed now. Someone pulled the body onto the floor. I was glad to have its dirty disgusting fingers away from my leg.

"Is everyone alright? Did anyone get hurt? Maggie? Glenn?"

"We're fine, Rick. I think everyone's fine," Maggie responded, her voice too loud next to my ear.

"I thought I heard someone cry out."

"Me, too," Rick agreed with the male speaker I couldn't immediately place. I didn't care who was talking. I just kept staring at the place where I had been sleeping minutes before. It might not have even been a whole minute. Maybe just half a one. A beam of light scanned the bed and found a dark, wet patch. My blood. The beam froze and those close enough to see what myself and the owner of the flashlight were seeing hushed. A dark smear led a path up to where I sat, back against the headboard, still half in Maggie's lap, clutching my side. I could feel the blood trickle through my fingers, not very quickly, but enough to make me feel lightheaded and dizzy. I felt a cold sweat pop up on my forehead and I thought I might pass out. There's a first for everything, apparently, even when you're dying. Or was I already dead? Did it make a difference. My death sentence had been signed, regardless. I heard Rick take a deep, steadying breath.

"Get Hershel."

…

Rick and the others in his group had swept the building without incident. There was an apartment on the third floor that they had chosen as an easily defensible place that had a fire escape, as well, in case flight was the order of the day instead. They had killed a couple walkers on the first floor, but beyond that, the place was empty. Unfortunately, it had also been picked clean, so no luck with increasing our supplies this time around. We refilled our water bottles with what we could find standing in the hot water heaters as the plumbing wasn't working. The women started working on settling up domestic issues, like washing clothes, making dinner, and setting up a toilet in the apartment next door. A part of me balked at the thought of being relegated to chores typically seen as 'women's work', but I swallowed my pride and pitched in how I could. Even Rick's son had a firearm and was taking up station at one of the windows. Let it go, I thought to myself. It was my own damn fault I didn't have a gun anymore, anyways, otherwise I could justify helping with security. I had been careless and some punk-ass kid had gotten the jump on me a day or two before I joined up with Suarez and Lawrence. Nothing I could do about it now.

I figured I could help with the food situation, but before I did that, I moved to check out the bedrooms and hopefully claim a piece of mattress. The apartment had a sizeable living room and two bedrooms across the hall from one another, so it was feasible that we could fit our entire, larger group into one apartment. This was better for safety reasons, but not so much if you were going for comfort. Carol and the two girls, the sisters, were chatting by the window in the bedroom to the left, sorting the clothes from their packs into color-coded piles. Carol glanced up, smiling tiredly at me.

"If you have some dirty clothes, go ahead and add them to the piles here. We're going to do what we can while we have plenty of water," Carol offered, pointing to the piles at their feet. I did my best to smile back.

"Thanks." There was a full-size, four-poster bed with a short headboard against the wall to my right, the one the door was on, across from the window. Maggie and Glenn were on the other side, talking in hushed voices. Glenn caught my eyes, over Maggie's shoulder, and hesitated mid-sentence. Maggie turned to see what he was distracted by.

"Hey," she said, smiling. I was surprised to see so many smiles in this group. My guys and I had forgone those niceties months ago and apparently I was a bit rusty. "Glenn and I were going to take the bed, but its plenty big enough if you want to squeeze in with us. Doesn't make sense to hog the bed with two of us when there's little enough to go aroun d. And who knows how long this heat wave will last. We can't light a fire indoors, so body heat's all we'll have." Glenn nodded, so I was reassured that sharing the bed hadn't been the subject of the fervent discussion I had unintentionally interrupted.

"If you don't mind," I accepted, relieved. I should probably have offered the bed to Carol or one of the girls, but I was feeling a little selfish. My shoulders and back ached from months of carrying a heavy pack and I was ready to fight with someone for a real mattress, even just for one night. Everyone else could fend for themselves for tonight, as long as I had one restful night in a bed.

"Not at all," she responded, turning back to her conversation with Glenn.

…..

The doctor, Hershel, hadn't moved me from where I was reclining against the headboard. He had my t-shirt tucked into the bottom of my bra so he could more closely examine the wound in my side. I didn't see the point, but he insisted. He was working by the light of a camp lantern; one of those old-fashioned types with the little cloth bags called mantels that you had to light and then used a nob to control the brightness. My dad had had one for camping and power outages when we were little and I can remember playing cards or reading myself to sleep by its light, the crickets outside our tent as my lullaby. Hershel was flushing the wound with some bottled water which made it sting and burn. I flinched without meaning to.

"How bad is it, Doc? Can you give her stitches or something?" Suarez was leaning against the door frame, trying to appear disinterested, but his worried eyes kept flicking to mine. Carol had ushered the children from the room, and Rick was trying to get the others to give me some space, but he wasn't having much success. Maggie, like myself, hadn't moved yet, so she still held onto my shoulders, rubbing them slightly with her thumbs, feeling sorry for me, I was sure. She had seen enough of these type wounds to know what it meant. Glenn stood beside her, a bushman knife in his hand. I assumed that was what he had been reaching under his pack for. Daryl and his arrow had been quicker, though. He must've been sleeping just outside the door, in the hallway. Or perhaps he had been awake, keeping watch, and heard me before Maggie's scream woke the others. He was standing in the corner, watching me closely. It made me a little uncomfortable, but I knew from where he was standing he could see where I had been bitten and was probably weighing out how soon before they would need to end me. They wouldn't give my body the opportunity to turn. I was thankful for that, at least. Rick was standing directly behind the doctor, and Lawrence and Phil were double checking the security of the building since all the raucous had attracted the attention of some of the walkers outside.

"It's not really the kind of wound I can give stitches for, but it's fairly superficial, didn't perforate the abdominal wall, and the bleeding's stopped, so if we keep clean bandages on it, it should be fine." His voice sounded cheery, overly so, I thought. I think he was trying to diffuse what was going to be a tense situation, with people pointing fingers for the blame. Suarez, especially, had a short fuse and I knew he would raise hell when he realized the implications of what had happened to me. With the groups having only just converged, it could lead to a dangerous situation for all of us if things went badly.

"Doc, that is what I think it is, right?" Daryl asked from the corner. His eyes flickered down to where Hershel was working, though I couldn't see it myself, and then to the doctor's shielded face. I could hear him sigh, though, as he taped a gauze pad over the wound. He pulled back when he was done and met my gaze.

"It's a bite," he acknowledged, his voice barely above a whisper. The air felt still, everyone holding their breath, looking at me. I guess they thought I hadn't realized the extent of my injury.

"I know," also barely above a whisper. I hated the way the emotion made my voice sound choked. I took a deep, calming breath. "How long?" The doctor shrugged, and then moved to replace my shirt. I guess modesty was still something I could retain in the face of my demise.

"Two, three days maybe until the infection spreads and the fever takes you. It's a small wound, so you have longer than some. Unfortunately, because of where it is, there's no way to keep it from spreading. I'm sorry." And to his credit, he did, indeed, look sorry. I took another deep breath, trying to steady myself.

I had three days left to live.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 1 - Part 1: Restless

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, my whole body tense. My side was raw and burning beneath the bandage and I was laying in the same place I had just been attacked. Who in their right mind could sleep under those conditions. At least we stripped off the sheets and flipped the mattress, but seriously? I have a hard enough time turning my brain off normally. No such luck tonight. I sighed, wishing I could toss and turn a bit to get comfortable, but Maggie and Glenn were still sharing with me and I didn't want to keep them up just because I was going to have a miserable night. Who was I kidding? It would be a miserable few days. The rest of my life.

Giving up, I eased myself off the bed, picking up my shoes to bring them with me. I used to rebel against wearing shoes, but now you had to always be ready to run, even when sleeping. Waking the others up was not part of my plan, though, so I figured I'd wait until I was outside the front door before clomping around in my road-weary hiking boots. I didn't have a plan of where to go, I just knew I needed to go somewhere I could clear my head. I almost tripped over something resting against the wall outside the open bedroom door. I gasped softly as the something grunted in response to my inadvertent kick. It took my eyes a moment to realize that that something was Daryl, the scruffy, redneck guy. He was reclining against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him across the hall, crossbow laying on his lap.

"Jeez! What the hell are you doing sitting here in the dark?" I could barely make out his shape, so it was impossible for me to see his face. I rely on faces a lot, so it made me a little anxious.

"I can see into both rooms from here, as well as the front door. Plus, I'm out of the way of the sleepers." He was keeping his voice low, to avoid waking the others. I remembered earlier how he was the first one to respond to the zombie that had attacked me, taking it out with one of his arrows before Glenn could even pull his knife.

"Were you sitting here earlier?" I hesitated. "Before?"

"Yeah," he responded, after a moment's pause. I knew why I was having difficulty talking about it, but why was he? My temper flared.

"Well a fat lot of good it did, then," I snapped, still mindful enough to keep my voice down. He didn't respond. As quickly as it had risen, my anger was gone, and I felt a little bad about blaming him for what happened. Shit happens. It wasn't fair for me to point any fingers. I was as much to blame as anyone else. I wasn't much for apologies, though.

"Look, I just need some air," I said with a sigh. "Can't sleep. I'm not trying to take off or anything." I avoided looking at him, wondering if his night vision was better than mine.

"Ok," was all he said. I hesitated, but decided to just let it go, stepping over him and continuing my tiptoed path to the front door, past the other 'sleepers'.

Once out the door, I slipped my boots on and laced them up. The air in the corridor was still, stale even, and quieter than I had anticipated. At first I was alarmed, but then I reassured myself that the silence meant no walker would be able to sneak up on me. They are anything but quiet. And yet...well, I wasn't going to think about how the one earlier had gotten the jump on me. It happened. That's that.

Not sure what I was really looking for, I decided to just start wandering around the other apartments, see if I could find anything interesting to distract myself with. I knew I wouldn't find anything useful for survival since the building had already been swept for that, but maybe I could find something entertaining, at least. The apartment next door to the one we were staying in, where someone had set up the toilets, had been owned by a woman with two closets full of fancy clothes, something I thought didn't make sense looking at the state of the apartment building. I didn't really have a taste for fashion, though, so I moved on. I couldn't help peaking at the contents of the kitchen cabinets on my way out, but found no evidence that the woman had even known how to cook. I derived a little pleasure in making fun of how silly a woman like that, living in a place like this, must've been, but when my brain drifted to where she most likely was now, I berated myself. Shame on me. The other apartments on the floor were bare, stripped clean, so I moved to the next floor up. It wasn't until I had reached the topmost floor that I finally found a treasure trove; someone with an entire room for his books! I probably should have thought him as silly as the woman with two closets of clothes, but I felt full of awe and respect. I had never seen so many books together in one room except in libraries or bookstores.

The moon shone through the window at the end of the room, so I was able to just make out the titles on the spines. I started at the top corner by the window, using a step stool tucked in beside the bookcase to reach the top shelf, and slowly ran my fingers along the embossed titles. Some of these I knew, but most I had never even heard of. The first bookcase was full of old college-type textbooks. There were the introductory courses everyone had to take, but the books gradually became more specific until I could see he had specialized in civil engineering. I had no idea what a career like that entailed, but it didn't sound very fun. Probably why he needed a room full of books to make life worth living. The other wall contained books that he had probably enjoyed reading more, or at least that was what I assumed. I ran across a number I had heard of, but maybe only two or three I had ever read myself. It was the bottom half of the last stack that brought me up short. Here the books changed gears abruptly. I slid one from the shelf, curious, and was met with an image of a beautiful blonde princess standing in front of a castle, a handsome young man on a horse beside her. Normally I would've scoffed at how ridiculous childhood fairy tales are, but the presence of the book in this place affected me. The book slipped from my hand as I stared blankly at the cover and when I reached to pick it up, I realized my hands were trembling. Carefully, I slid the book back into its spot and moved to the next. This one was about a mischievous little monkey, running around, getting himself into all sorts of trouble. It was one from a series that every child knew, even if they had never read it. I was very familiar with this one, though.

I was nestled in a high tree branch, my back against the trunk with my legs crossed and stretched out along the branch. A little boy with blonde hair the same shade as mine and striking blue eyes was curled in my lap. My arms reached around him to hold the book we were reading. Across the pages were stray crayon lines and on one he apparently had felt the need to append the drawing with his own version of the sun, in bright orange marker. His skin felt warm against mine, though we were shaded from the summer sun by the thick leaves above us, and his hair smelled like dirt and grass. There was a little color on his cheeks and arms from where he had been playing with the neighbor kids earlier in the day. His little boy voice read the words out from the page slowly, making sure he pronounced each one carefully.

"But...when...the...ice...cream...truck...", he paused, struggling with one of the larger words. I waited for him to work it out. "M...m...moo...".

"Moved," I prompted.

"Moved on...George...for...for..."

"What's the second half?" He squinted at the page, his long eyelashes touching.

"Got?"

"Ok, so put them together..."

"For...got? Forgot!" He turned his head to grin at me, several black holes where teeth should have been.

"Good job! Want to keep going?" He nodded, but we could hear mom's voice calling to us from the house nearby, letting us know that dinner was ready.

I hadn't thought about my little brother in a long time, and I wasn't prepared for the emotional response it would bring out of me. Sliding the book back in its place, I hastily brushed the tears from my face, and stood. My knees protested and I hissed slightly as the bandage pulled at the edge of the bite wound, clapping my hand over it. I knew my parents were gone, but I hadn't spoken to my brother in years, long before this nightmare had taken place. I had no idea where he was or if he was even still alive. Part of me had been holding out hope that I would run across him out here, but there was no chance of that now. I would never get to say good-bye or apologize to him for how things turned out. I had always tried to be a good big sister, but I got caught up with my own life and forgot to keep in touch. We always think we have time.

The tears kept coming and a lump formed in my throat, making it difficult to breath. I needed to get outside. At the top of the stairwell was the door to the roof. I expected it to be locked, but when I put my shoulder against it, it slowly gave way. A cool, fresh breeze drifted past the door and I gulped at it like a fish out of water. I stumbled through the door and between a couple industrial-size air conditioning units. The edge of the roof was lined with a two-foot barrier wall, enough to keep you on the roof if you accidentally stepped too closely to it or forgot how near the edge you were. I leaned heavily against one of the air conditioning units, still holding my side. Eyes closed, I focused on taking deep breaths, slowly regaining control of my emotions.

What a way to go. I never realized how hard it would be to know exactly how much time you had left. Everyone plays around with wanting to know, but actually knowing? Not so great. Could I do it; sit through these next few days knowing what was coming? I'd heard plenty of stories of how it happens. First the fever, hallucinations and incoherent thoughts, every nerve in your body raw and sending pain signals to your brain. Maybe the fever cooks your brain til there's nothing left. Who knows what the bite's effect on the inside of your body was, but it was not a pleasant way to die. Surely wouldn't have been my first choice. Just thinking about how it would happen made my heart race and my palms sweat.

There was another option. My eyes shifted to the short barrier around the roof's edge. Would a fall from five stories up kill me instantly? I had heard of people jumping from buildings that weren't tall enough and living through that ordeal. That'd be a hell of a thing to wake up in the hospital to. Surprise! You're not dead. Not only that, but now you're in a full body cast with all these injuries and pain to live with. You think life sucked before? Just wait!

I straightened up, facing the edge of the roof. Slowly, I crossed the twenty-some feet between myself and the half-wall, still holding my side. The wound didn't hurt, but I was reluctant to move my hand. The toes of my boots tapped against the wall soundlessly, though I could feel the vibration in my feet. A wave of anxiety ran through me as I was faced with the open expanse beyond the roof. I don't usually make it a habit to stand around on rooftops due to a healthy dose of fear of heights. Crossing my arms protectively across my chest, I forced myself to look down. A glance was all I could manage before the vertigo forced me to take a step back. Was this what I wanted? A quick, hopefully painless death to replace the long, agonizing one I was facing? It would be easier on everyone if I jumped, myself included.

A soft, popping sound pulled me out of a light sleep. Some people would have lain there, trying to rationalize it away, but I knew the sound of a gun when I heard it. Without hesitation I rolled myself off the mattress, bare feet hitting the floor with a low thump. My silver revolver with the black grip lay on top of my nightstand. Snatching it up, feeling its comforting weight in my hand, I crossed the hardwood floor to my bedroom door. I eased the door open, listening to the sounds in the house, but only heard the blood pounding in my ears. Holding the gun with both hands, aimed at the floor in front of me, I made my way quickly downstairs. I had a flash of myself looking badass like those cops on tv, but I'm sure I looked like a complete fool. I was at the bottom of the stairs when I heard my parents' door creak.

"Dad?" I whispered, wanting him to know I was down here before he thought I was an intruder or something.

"What the hell are you doing? Get back in bed and let me handle this!" he replied, also whispering. I could make out his dark shape moving down the stairs towards me and I shifted out of his way.

"I heard gunshots," I said, ignoring his orders. I could hear him sigh, growling slightly under his breath.

"Sounded like they came from the Summers' farm," he nodded towards the side door through the living room. I followed him out onto the front porch where we could see across to the neighboring farmhouse by the faint moonlight. We listened for a moment, but no other sounds met our ears. I wanted to ask him what he thought was going on, but I didn't dare speak in case someone was around to hear us.

"Wait here," his voice barely more than a breath in my ear. My initial adrenaline was wearing down, replaced by an anxiety that seemed to have my feet rooted in place. Not wanting to admit my fear, I pretended to acquiesce, nodding in response. I hated watching him dash across the grass alone, feeling like I was somehow letting him down even though I was doing what he'd asked. The night air was a little chilly, raising goosebumps on my bare arms and legs. I was regretting the choice of sleep shorts and tank top. Dad tiptoed up the front stairs of the Summers' porch; I could just barely make him out. These weren't suburban houses with the little postage stamp yards. It was a good quarter mile between our house and next, but there also wasn't anything to obstruct my view except some sparse trees. I didn't see or hear him knock, but I could see him slide in the front door without resistance. None of us really locked our doors, even at night, but after the world started falling apart, we had gotten into the habit of it. Couldn't be too safe with dead people running around trying to rip a chunk out of your jugular.

The minutes stretched on without any sign of my dad. Shit! My need to know what was going on warred with my fear of his wrath. I didn't have to fear his wrath if he was dead, though. I slipped on my farm shoes and hurried down the steps. It seemed to take an eternity for me to reach the large oak tree in the Summers' front yard. Still no sound. I was fighting to keep my fear under control; it was making my hands sweat and shake and I was starting to worry I'd drop the gun. I quickly wiped my palms on my shorts before darting up the steps to the front door. It was still standing open a few inches, so I followed my father in.

The smell of blood hung in the air and brought me up short. Now that I was inside, the silence weighed heavily on my ears and I couldn't hear any sounds, not even those my dad should be making. I didn't dare call out, though. I was familiar with the layout of the house and knew that the oldest daughter's room was the only one on the first floor, at the back of the house through the kitchen. I slipped my shoes off, tucking them behind the flowerpot by the front door. On the balls of my feet, I could move through the house like a ghost, making not a sound. The stairs to the second floor spiraled up to my right, but I bypassed them on my way down the hall. First door on the left was the bathroom, the one on my right was a closet, and then on the left right before the kitchen was a pantry. The back of the house was lined with windows so that the kitchen was as well lit as it had been outdoors. Another hallway branched off to the left of the kitchen and I could see Carly's door sitting half open.

A feeling of dread settled on me as I tried to cross the kitchen. Apparently my feet were sweating in anxiety, as well, because there were little sucking sounds each time I picked up one of my feet on the linoleum. I slowed down to see if that would reduce the sound, but I could still hear it and my heart raced even further. Back on the carpet of the other hallway, I turned so my back was to the wall Carly's door was on. I hesitated at the open door, not daring to look in yet. A shaft of moonlight was silhouetted on the hall carpet so I knew I wouldn't need my flashlight to get a lay of the room. Taking a deep breath, I peaked around the corner. There was a form on the bed, but no sounds, no movement. If it was something alive, they were breathing very quietly.

Although the moon was shining in through her window, the bed was still in heavy shadow. I moved further into the room as I reached in my pocket for my flashlight. The moment I clicked it on, I wished I hadn't. Carly was on the bed, but the image imprinted on my brain to this day was grotesque. It was clear that she was dead. My flashlight slipped from my hand and I could taste the bile in the back of my throat. I must have started making a sound because in the next instant a large hand was clamped over my mouth from behind. It startled me and I screamed before I realized that it was my dad. He released me long enough for me to snatch my flashlight back up. Somehow I had managed to hang on to my gun. Flashlight in one hand, gun in the other, my father gripped my upper arm and half dragged me out the back door. Once in the grass, I realized I was still barefoot.

"Wait," I gasped, but he didn't slow down. "My shoes! I-", but I didn't get to finish because suddenly I was bent over, throwing up my lunch in the grass. My dad let go of my arm and looked back at the house. "My shoes are in the house," I finished, when I could catch my breath.

"Where?" he growled. When I had detailed their hiding place for him, he hurried back inside, leaving me on my hands and knees in the damp grass. I couldn't even process what I had just seen before he was back and hauling me to my feet. My shoes were in his hand, but he dragged me barefoot the quarter mile home. My mother met us in the kitchen and, when she saw my face, brewed some tea. The process took longer than it would have if she had had the help of electricity, but the power had gone out several days before and we doubted it would be back on anytime soon, if ever.

Sitting at the dining room table, a warm mug of tea between my hands, I studied my father's back. He leaned against the sink, gripping the edge fiercely, staring at the Summers' house through the window. My mother stood near him, watching his face.

"What did you find?" she finally ventured to break the silence between us. My father took so long to respond that I thought I was going to have to say it.

"They're dead." My mother's eyes widened.

"All of them?" she croaked, her voice cracking. Emotions were easily accessible for her.

"Yes." She put her hand over her mouth as she waited for him to continue. "Harold must've done his wife and the younger children first. Suffocated them with their pillows. He shot the oldest girl while she was sleeping and then went back into his bedroom and shot himself." My mother was crying and I could see the tension in my father's shoulders. I just sat there, in shock. I hadn't thought about that. When the dead started attacking the living, my thoughts had gone straight to survival, trained that way by my father. But Mr. Summer had a different view. Choose for him and his family to die their own way rather than face the horrors that were coming for us. Death was easier than the world we were living in now.

Was that a good way to die, though? Was that noble or honorable? I laughed a little at myself. Those were such outdated concepts and had no place in the world now. Maybe all you could ask for was to be able to choose how you died, rather than letting the zombies win, turning you into one of them. I would rather die than live that way. Would rather die than hurt someone else in that state. I was afraid of what was coming, as Mr. Summer had been. Afraid of my death, afraid of what I would become if someone with the strength to take me out wasn't there when it happened. Afraid.

I'm not sure how long I stood there at the edge, studying the buildings around us by what light the moon was giving. Eventually I stepped back. I wouldn't jump. Not tonight. If I chose to die before turning, I wouldn't make that choice out of fear. Never out of fear. I would not let my fear control me or dictate how I lived what was left of my life.

The wind picked up, a nice, cool breeze that felt good on my clammy skin. I turned towards it and could see a slight lightening at the horizon. A tinge of blue against the black expanse. The sun was coming up. Suddenly, I realized I wasn't alone. Whipping my head back around to my right, back towards the stairwell, I saw Daryl, leaning against one of the air conditioning units, arms crossed in front of him. There was no expression on his face and he didn't react when I discovered him there.

"How long have you been standing there?" The anger rose in me again as my temper got the best of me. I didn't appreciate being spied on like some criminal.

"Long enough. Did you decide not to jump, then?" I don't know how, but he managed to keep his voice even, his face blank, not giving anything away. I laughed, nothing more than the sound of the air through my nose.

"Probably better for everyone if I did." I looked down at my shoes.

"Probably," he agreed. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to figure him out. Although his manner was relaxed and his voice and face were void of emotion, his eyes were watching me with an intensity that made my skin itch. It wasn't necessarily a bad itch, though, just uncomfortable.

"Would you do it?" I was studying his feet now rather than my own. "Would you jump, if you were in my shoes?" He shifted so that his back was leaning against the unit instead of his shoulder, never taking his eyes off me.

"I don't know. Dying from a geek-bite ain't pretty and there's something nice about choosing the way you die."

"But?" I prompted when he stopped talking.

"But, life's already so short, especially now. I'd probably want to make the most of what time I had left, even if it's doing something pointless like hunting with my brother or taking a nap in the middle of the day." I smirked. There was a strange pleasure connected to a midday nap. Probably some happy memory left over from our preschool years.

"Besides, hard to guarantee you'll land on your head, and if you don't, you still end up as one of those things. Anyways, you have time to figure out what you want to do. We're going to stay here for a few days. Let people have a chance to rest before we get the hell out of this city." Aka, wait until you're dead and no longer a liability to us. Great. Daryl stood there studying me while I struggled to remain composed, turning my face away from him.

"You gonna stay up here for a bit?" There was a lump in my throat and tears running down my cheeks. Ugh, I hated crying. At least I had a good reason. I knew better than to try speaking, lest I give myself away, so I just nodded. I heard some more shuffling and then something heavy being set on the ground behind me. "Might as well make yourself useful, then. Keep an eye on those geeks down there, but don't take any shots, either, unless it's life or death. Sound like that'll bring them to us from all over the city." I had survived long enough out here to know that rule. I didn't think he was intentionally trying to insult me, but rather covering himself. He was leaving me a gun and didn't want me dooming the rest of them by blowing my head off with it. I could respect that. "If you get tired," he continued, "you know where to find us." I heard the door to the stairwell open as Daryl went back inside. I was alone with my thoughts once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 1 - Part 2: Trouble**

The sun was well up, had been over the horizon for a couple hours at least, when the trouble started. I had known there likely would be trouble, but it still caught me by surprise. I was sitting cross-legged with my knees against the barrier, my chin on my forearms. The rifle that Daryl left me lay across my lap. I felt oddly at peace, sitting there with the sun at my back, a light breeze on my skin, looking out over the city. The heat from the sun wasn't very strong, yet, but it was starting to make my shoulders and neck ache, like holding a burn over a hot cooktop. I think I had a spare short-sleeved shirt in my pack. I had thrown out the one I'd been wearing when the walker bit me, trading it in for a large tank top that gaped open on the sides to show more of my sports bra than I would normally care for. It also didn't give much protection from the sun. I'd head back in when the heat became too much and change.

There was a noise behind me. I turned to look over my shoulder, confused. The sound was muffled so I couldn't quite tell what it was. As it grew louder, though, I could start to make out voices, yelling. Then I recognized one. Suarez. Oh god, was someone else hurt? I jumped up, holding on to the barrel of the gun with one hand. The voices were continuing to get louder; they were coming up the stairwell. Towards me. Slowly, I leaned down to lay the gun on the concrete beside me. This wasn't about someone else. This was about me. Good. Let them take the decision out of my hands. Then it would be over and done with. No more drain on their resources, no making them wait around while the hordes below increased in number and made escape less likely. Let them come for me. Suarez and Lawrence wouldn't let it go so easily, though. No, Suarez would resist to the point where either he would hurt someone else or they would have to hurt him.

I hurried over to the door, not willing to let anyone get hurt because of me. I wasn't worth it.

"You stay the hell away! You hear me?" I could hear Suarez's voice yelling through the door. He sounded like he was just on the other side. As I was reaching for the handle the door flew open, smacking against my knuckles painfully. I yelped and snatched my hand back. Suarez's eyes were wide and a little crazy as he registered the fact that I was standing there. I couldn't see past him, but I could hear someone else yelling. He wasn't a big guy, but he was wider and taller than I was, and apparently much stronger, because before I could react, he had crouched down and grabbed me around the waist. I cried out, startled, as I ended up draped in half over his shoulder.

"Put me down! Put-" I was slapping at his back, trying to dig in my elbow, but he was ignoring me. There was more yelling, but I couldn't see anything except his sweaty, grimy shirt. Suarez wrapped his arm around my upper legs, pinning me in place. His shoulder was digging into the wound in my side painfully.

"It has to be done! Why can't you see that?" I recognized Phil's slow, deliberate cadence. "She's dying anyways. We're just helping to speed up the process."

"I said 'No', goddamnit!" Suarez gripped my legs tighter, backing away from where I assumed people were coming out of the stairwell with Phil. I couldn't see how many there were, but I could hear the sound of their feet. I heard a click, the sound of a hammer on a gun being pulled back. "Don't fucking move!" I wedged a hand between the wound in my side and his shoulder, but it didn't lessen the pain. I clapped my hand over my mouth to muffle my cry. I wondered how much the walkers on the street could hear of this commotion, how many more it was drawing. Phil's voice was slow and deliberate.

"There's no need for that, son. Think about this rationally."

"Suarez," a voice warned. It was Rick, I think. "Phil has a valid point here," I could both hear and feel Suarez's protest, but Rick kept going. "But, we don't kill someone just because they've been bitten. This has happened before, with our friend Jim, and we decided then that the person who's been bit gets to choose how it's handled. As far as I'm concerned, that still applies."

"And what did Jim choose to have his fate be?" No one answered Phil for a minute or so, but finally Carol chimed in.

"We left him by the side of the road. It's what he wanted."

"So you let him turn. You let him become one of those...things. How many people do you think he's attacked since then? How many people has he turned? This isn't just about choosing how you die. She's dangerous!" Suarez gripped me harder and backed up a couple more steps, jostling me and causing me to cry out again, the sound muffled by the hand I still held against my mouth. I wished he would just let them do it already. My heart broke a little for him, knowing how difficult it must be for him to accept losing someone else after everything he had been through. His whole family was gone. All he had left were me and Lawrence.

"Dangerous? You kidding me, man?! She's 5'4", 140 pounds, tops. You feel threatened by that? By her? A unarmed girl scares you that much?" I heard some angry sounds and some scuffling. There was the sound of another gun being cocked and Rick raised his voice again.

"Drop it, Phil! No one dies today!" There was a long pause where everyone grew quiet, waiting. The blood was rushing to my head, making me a little dizzy. My heart was thumping in my ears and I was trying so hard to be quiet, but my throat kept making these little whimpering sounds. At last I heard something metal being tossed on the concrete. I guessed it wasn't a gun since weapons of that sort were highly valued now.

"Have it your way," I heard him grumble. Still nobody moved.

"All right. Let's just everybody calm down, head back inside, and have some breakfast." I could hear the heavy door scrape against the concrete as someone moved to do just that. "And you," Rick continued, "your friend's bleeding again." The muscles in Suarez's shoulder shifted as he turned to look at what Rick was talking about. He cursed under his breath and set me back on my feet. I gasped and stumbled sideways, losing my balance as all the blood pooling in my head drained away. A strong pair of hands caught me and held me upright until I could see again. My fingers were sticky, so I guessed Rick was right when he had said that my side was bleeding again. I turned to look towards the stairwell door where Phil was hovering, watching me.

"Wait," I gasped, still trying to catch my breath. My side was on fire, like someone was holding me over an open flame. The pain made it hard to think clearly. Now that I turned my head, I could see that it was Daryl who had caught me. He was still holding me upright, hands on my upper arms. He was so close that I could smell him. It was a little like sweat, but there was another layer to it that wasn't altogether unpleasant, yet very distracting. I struggled to make my brain work as Phil watched me curiously. On the ground between us was a machete. My machete, in fact. Bastard must have taken it off my pack. I looked back at Phil, but his face didn't give anything away.

Everyone was watching at this point. Rick was there, as were Carol and Lori. Rick's boy was there, too, but tucked in the shadows behind the half-open stairwell door. The older of the two sisters hovered half a step behind Carol and Lori. Glenn was beside Rick. Suarez stood tensely, ready to jump in if I seemed to be in any danger. He had his small semi-automatic handgun in his hand, but aimed downwards. I remembered when we had found that gun in the nightstand of a couple who had been turned, along with their two small children. They were the first walkers I had killed. Before that, I had just focused on avoiding them. Ah, memories.

I crossed over to my machete, picking it up and feeling its familiar weight in my hand. Looking back to Phil, I offered it to him, handle first, like they teach you in safety classes. His eyebrows pulled together creating a slight crease as he tried to figure out what I was doing.

"Everything you said was spot on. Last thing I want is to have your food and supplies wasted on me, or worse, put any of the rest of you in danger. I'm dying. What difference does it make if it happens today or two days from now?"

"Leesey," Suarez protested, but someone must have stopped him, Rick probably.

"You want to kill me?" I asked him, moving a few steps closer so that I was almost touching him with the handle of the machete. It would be no effort at all for him to reach out and take it. "Do it. Just make it quick. Don't let me feel it." My hand was shaking as I held the machete towards him. "Please!" Phil matched my eye contact through the whole exchange. I could see him thinking about it, struggling with his desire to end my life. I could tell he wanted to, but something was causing him to hesitate. I felt a couple trickles of sweat run down my back as we stood there in the sun, every moment the temperature rising. It was going to be a hot day. He blinked, glancing over my shoulder towards where the guys were standing. Sighing, he looked over at Rick.

"Don't come crawling back to me when you want someone who can do the dirty work for you, when the time comes." Avoiding eye contact with me, he turned and went through the stairwell door. Rick's son moved out of the way, turning to look at me before the door swung shut. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but he didn't seem happy. I turned to slip the machete in the sheath I usually wore on my belt by my hip, forgetting that it wasn't there. Instead, my shirt was clinging to my side, a bright red spot, larger than the size of my open hand and growing, where the bandage was. Suarez really had done a number on my side.

"You should really have Hershel re-bandage that for you," Rick suggested. I opened my mouth to protest, but Suarez was by my side, gripping my arm painfully as he practically dragged me back inside the building. He wasn't going to give me a choice about that one. I guess my moment of self-sacrifice wasn't sitting well with him. I had figured it wouldn't. Damn Phil for not having the balls to just finish this. What the hell had changed his mind?

Twenty minutes later Hershel had me fixed up. I was doing my best to change my shirt, but I was having trouble getting my shirt off without twisting in a way that made my side hurt. I hissed, making a face, when I finally succeeded in getting my shirt over my head. I glanced up to see Daryl in the half-open doorway. He stepped back, dropping his eyes.

"Sorry. I didn't realize." He turned back towards the living room.

"No worries. Lawrence and Suarez've seen me in my bra hundreds of times." He looked back at me, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, no, that came out wrong!" He smirked, laughing at me. I shook my head.

"Hershel didn't offer you anything for the pain? That thing's gotta sting like a bitch," he said, nodding at the bandage just below my ribs. I glanced down at it myself.

"It does, and he did, but it doesn't matter. I wouldn't accept it anyways."

"Gotcha." I picked my fresh t-shirt up off the bed, sliding my arms into the sleeves before trying to get in over my head. It was easier getting this one on than the other off, somehow. I noticed Daryl's eyes lingering on me before Carol came up beside him. He stepped back to give her access to the room. She pushed the door the rest of the way open, looking from him to me, mild confusion on her face.

"I was going to see if you needed a new shirt," she said, indicating one she held in her hand. "I can wash the old one for you, though, before the blood sets in." I looked at her, amused. It didn't make a difference whether the blood set in or not. I'd be dead before I had the chance to wear it again. I looked down at where my bloody tank top lay on the floor.

"It might as well be useful to someone, I suppose. Go ahead." I reached to pick it up, being as gingerly with my side as possible.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking. Forgive me." Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes were wide with horror at her error. I shook my head.

"It's fine, really." Before I could hand her the shirt, she had retreated back down the hallway. Daryl glanced at me before following her back to the living room. I tossed the shirt in the corner by my pack before heading after them. The door to the bedroom across the hall was shut and I didn't see Carol or the two sisters in the living room. Lori and the woman from the foursome group, Kelly, were missing, too. Phil was sitting by the open window, shotgun in his hands, and gave me an ugly look when he saw me. Rick was in the opposite corner, kneeling down in front of his son, talking to him about something. There was a tattered couch and matching armchair in the center of the room. Lawrence was on the couch across from Suarez, who sat in the armchair. Hershel stood talking to his daughter, Beth, near the door to the apartment, and Daryl was leaning on the wall between me and Phil, right by my shoulder. Lawrence turned to look at me as I made a quick assessment of the room. Old habits die hard.

"You heading back up to the roof?" he asked me. I shrugged.

"Might as well make myself useful, right?" I replied, repeating what Daryl had said to me earlier. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye as he smirked at me. He reached over to grab the scoped rifle that was leaning against the wall next to him.

"Are you kidding me?" Phil asked, looking incredulously at his Daryl and then Rick.

"What's she hurting? Huh?" Daryl countered, his tone defensive. "Give me one good reason why not?" Phil squinted at him, but didn't respond. Instead, he turned back to the window, shaking his head.

"Here," he said, handing me the rifle. "What I said before still applies."

"Of course," I said, reaching to take the rifle from him. Rick's little boy grabbed a couple water bottles and approachedme. He didn't say anything, but smiled a little at me. How could I refuse. I slipped the bottles into one of the cargo pockets on my pants.

"Thanks," I whispered, humbled. Rick nodded to me, giving me his silent approval. Suarez was furiously studying the floor, apparently still angry with me.

"You sure?" Lawrence asked me, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. I nodded, my eyes on the floor. I needed to get out of this apartment, away from all these eyes. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I hurried across the room and out the door, sighing with relief when it was closed behind me. I hated being the center of attention. Even when it was for a good thing, like a birthday party. It always made me feel anxious. I had always preferred my own company to that of anyone else, and when I did hang out with friends, it was usually only one or two at a time. Voices were coming from the apartment next door. Female voices. I walked over to the door, which was open a little, and listened. I recognized Carol's voice, and the two sisters. They were talking about the dresses and, from what I could tell, were busy trying them on and having some laughs. I smirked. Good for them. It was difficult to find anything to make you happy these days. I was glad they were getting a break from the insanity outside, even if only for a few days. Then I heard Lori's voice. She asked the girls to go in the bedroom with Kelly so she could talk to Carol privately. I glanced towards the stairwell door, wondering if I shouldn't give them some privacy, as well, but my curiosity won out.

"We are dangerously low on food, Carol. I don't know how to make it stretch much further than another two, three days tops."

"The last I looked, we had enough for a whole week, at least!"

"That was before our group doubled in size." There was a pause.

"They didn't bring any food supplies with them?" She seemed hesitant as she spoke. Another pause.

"Not that they're admitting to. I don't think any of us are seeing this as a permanent merging and these others are holding tight to whatever supplies they have with them."

"To be fair, if we were in their shoes, we would do the same thing. You and I haven't really had to deal with being on our own out there. We've always had the security of being in a larger group. Can you even imagine what it would have been like with just you, Rick, and Carl? I think about me, Ed, and Sophia out there, just ourselves, and I can't imagine how tough it would have been. And you know Ed was the sort to have been prepared for a disaster like this. It's survival instinct."

"I get that. Really, I do. But it doesn't change the fact that we'll run out of food before we get out of this city." They were both quiet for a long minute.

"So what do you propose we do?" Lori sighed before responding.

"I don't know. I'm afraid to say anything about it. Things are already so tense." It sounded like someone was moving towards the door and I hurried around the corner, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. This was bad. I hated to think about what would happen if tensions within the group grew worse, especially when the food ran out. My guys were going to have a better chance after I died if they remained with this new group. I needed to smooth things over if I wanted that to happen. Plus, if I was serious about not wanting to be a further burden to these people, I had to find a way to fix this situation. Maybe there was something I could do, some way to help these people survive longer. One last good thing I could do before I had to go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 1: Part 3 - A Spark**

The silence was so heavy it seemed like I had cotton balls in them. Even now, my ears strained for some sort of background noise: cars, voices, music, even that strange whine that meant some nearby electronic device like a computer or tv was on. We were on the top floor of the apartment building next to the one we were temporarily camped out in, in the stairwell. The buildings were essentially twins and were connected on the roof by a thin metal walkway. I had spied it earlier when I was sitting up there earlier. I had remembered it while eavesdropping on Carol and Lori and thought it might be a good place to look for more supplies. It also couldn't hurt my efforts to ingratiate my guys with the Rick's larger group. I crouched in front of the stairwell door, every muscle tense as I eased it open a crack. I was ready to run if needs be, but from this angle the hallway seemed clear. Lawrence was at the edge of the stairs, peaking over the railing to see if anything was on the way up that might block our exit back to the roof. Suarez was at my shoulder, waiting to hold the door for me so I could slip through if it looked safe. Months of living as the three of us meant that we had a system for clearing buildings and knew instinctively what parts each of us would play. It was second nature, by this point. A well-choreographed dance, if you will; our movements went together as fluidly as if we were three parts of the same mind.

Rick had protested at first, as I had known he would, and his son had echoed his father's concerns. I insisted on only the three of us crossing the bridge over to the adjoining building, explaining how any additional people would slow us down and put us at greater risk, not less. Neither Rick nor Carl wanted to continue arguing with me, though, after I played the dying card. I know, low blow, but a girl's gotta use what she's given. T-Dog didn't like the thought of the three of us heading over there alone, but I think those concerns were more out of a sense of distrust than any thought of our safety. Surprisingly, Phil stayed out of the debate, never taking his eyes from the living room window. Daryl's reaction had particularly intrigued me, though I didn't want to admit why right then. I needed to focus on the task at hand. I was entirely in the moment, using every sense, feeling every muscle. In that moment, I was the hunter, and I felt more powerful than I had in weeks.

I eased the door open further until there was enough room to slip out. The coast seemingly clear, Suarez held the door for me so I could move into the hall. I stayed up on the balls of my feet which made my movements quieter and kept the muscles in my legs engaged, shortening my reaction time. Clear of the door, I twisted and saw that the rest of the hall was indeed empty. When I had backed myself up to the opposite wall, Suarez and Lawrence followed me through. The adrenaline had my fingers twitching and palms sweating and my heart was beating hard against my ribs. I tried to keep my breathing slow and even in order to maintain control of my body. I wanted to be alert, but too much adrenaline would make me jittery and sloppy.

The halls were lined up in a square, with the stairwell and elevators in the middle. Now that the guys were in position, we would sweep the halls first before entering the apartments. Half crouching, I led the way to the first corner. Lawrence was across from me where I could see him out of the corner of my eye while Suarez hung back a few paces to watch the other direction. Zombies weren't very good at sneaking up on people, but we didn't want to take any chances. Sometimes threats came from other sources than just the walkers, though, thankfully, my little trio hadn't had run-ins with fellow survivors. Yet. That might change if Suarez couldn't keep a cool head. Anyways, because of our positions, I could see down the next leg of the hall first. This also meant that anything in that part of the hall would see me before the guys. I'm not sure how I ended up as point person, but it had always been that way. You would think that these two guys would have pulled some macho bullshit and tried to keep me in the safest of the positions. Maybe they did, but I can't remember. I think it had partly been an unconscious decision within the group and partly my initial need to prove myself to them. Now it was just the way we worked. The halls on the top floor were clear, and before long we were back at the stairwell door. I continued past the stairwell to the first apartment door without hesitation. The first two doors we passed were locked, but the knob of the third turned easily in my hand. I tested the door for any creaks before pushing it open a crack.

The sound of heaving breathing reached my ears. I froze, my whole body tensed, holding my breath. Of course I knew that sound. No living creature would be breathing that way. The walker wasn't in my line of sight, so I shifted my weight, trying to see more of the room without opening the door further or recklessly poking my head through. Glancing back at Lawrence, I gave him a quick nod. He hefted the hatchet in his right hand higher and moved so that he was right behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. In my previous life, having a guy so close to me physically would have set off all sorts of alarm bells in my head, but in this case, his proximity calmed my nerves. Suarez and Lawrence represented safety to me; they had never given me a reason to fear or distrust them. Trust was essential when constantly putting your life in someone's hands as I had done with them on countless occasions, and they with me. Breathing again, I wiped my palms on my pants and readjusted my grip on the machete before quickly pushing the door the rest of the way open. We wanted to get eyes on that walker before it realized we were there. I made every effort to avoid alerting the walker that we were there.

There was a hole in the wall across from the door; a breakfast nook that looked into the kitchen. A woman in a light blue flowered dress was standing by the bar stools lined up beneath the opening, facing away from us. We couldn't see her face, but I knew from the sound of her breathing what she was. Her appearance made it obvious, as well. Her shoulders were oddly slumped and her skin and clothes were filthy. Her long, blonde hair was matted into a horrible rat's nest on one side of her head and she was painfully thin. She hadn't done anything yet to make me think she knew we were there. The thick carpeting allowed me to ease through the doorway to a spot where I could see down the hallway to the rest of the apartment. The living room was to my left, but a quick scan with my eyes reassured me that it was empty. There were two doors on the left side of the hall, one doorway and a set of accordion doors on the right. The door at the very end of the hall stood open, revealing the ambient light of a window. The rest of the apartment was deep in shadows.

Even as I moved into the living room to get a better view, Lawrence stepped forward and, in two quick strides, had crossed the distance between himself and the walker, burying the hatchet into the back of her skull. There was a hard rap as her skull cracked, followed by a low squishing noise as the blade sunk into her brain. Lawrence put a boot on her shoulder to give himself some leverage. Pulling the hatchet free, he accidentally splattered the near wall with little blood droplets and white spots of brain matter. I tried not to think about it. The first time I had killed a zombie, I had thrown up on Suarez's shoes; the second time I had thrown up on my own shoes. Stuff like this didn't set off my gag reflex anymore, though. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. I know it sounds insensitive, but these were the times we were living in now. Catching Lawrence's eye, we started moving down the hall. I could see Suarez just outside the main apartment door. The first room we came to was the kitchen, but thanks to the breakfast nook we already knew that was empty. Then there was the first closed door on Lawrence's side of the hall. He quickly flung it open, but it was just a coat closet.

The second closed door on his side was a bedroom. There was a full-size mattress set on the floor across from the door and a desk and chair with a computer against the far wall, beside the closet. I only had enough time to make these quick observations before there was a loud growl and a tall, gangly walker lurched into view. He headed straight for me, of course, but I was ready for him. I swung across my body with the machete and caught the walker in the temple. The machete was sharp and I knew just how much power to use to cut through a human skull. He pulled the weapon from my hand when he fell sideways across my feet, but it hadn't stuck in very deep. I could see now that the walker had been in his early twenties at most when turned, though his clothes were too filthy for me to learn anything more about him that way. To be honest, I didn't really care. I couldn't afford to. You had to turn off your emotions when in survival mode; thinking too much would slow down your reaction time. The angry, sore hole in my side was proof enough that you always had to be at the top of your game. Besides, was the guilt and shame really worth it when it didn't change what needed to be done? A quick tug had my machete solidly back in my grasp and we moved on to the accordion doors. I figured there would be a washer and dryer behind them since we hadn't seen those yet. Come to think of it, we hadn't seen a bathroom yet, either. I glanced back up the hall just to make sure we hadn't missed a door. I couldn't see it, but I thought I remembered seeing one in the living room. It would take up the space behind the coat closet. I was right about the washer and dryer.

At the end of the hall, the door opened so that I had the line of sight. There was an open closet door on the far wall, with a desk setup similar to the previous bedroom. I reached across myself with my left arm to push the door open further so we could see the rest of the room. I was slowly swinging it open when a hand shot out from around it and grabbed hold of my wrist. I jumped in surprise, barely suppressing a yelp. I heard the low growl, but instead of giving in to my instinct to flee, I yanked my arm into my stomach, pulling the walker out from behind the door to where I could more easily get to him. The door was blocking my right arm and it took me a moment to adjust so that I could swing the machete over my head instead. The walker had just started to bare its teeth when I made contact. I swung too hard, though, because it stuck fast and I went down to the floor with it. Feeling the zombie underneath me go limp as that part of its brain keeping it animated expired, I looked to the part of the room that the door was still blocking. There was another female walker near the bed and she was quickly moving in my direction now that she could see me. She had her arms out in front of her, hands curled into claws. I kicked out with my foot, opening the door the rest of the way so Lawrence could see her. He stepped over me and swung the hatchet, struck her square in the temple. The force threw the walker's body into the door, slamming it into the wall with a loud noise. I glanced back up the hall to see Suarez lean into view and gave him a thumbs up, letting him know everything was fine. Sighing in silent self-abuse, I wiggled my blade free of the walker's skull. It made small squeaking noises as it rubbed against the bone. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Lawrence helped me to my feet and, after checking the bathrooms in both the master bedroom and living room, we moved back into position for the next open apartment.

We repeated this process for each open apartment and when we had reached the stairwell for the second time we switched things up. Lawrence took over Suarez's duties as lookout while he took point and I backed him up. Suarez had the lockpicking skills, which is why he took point when we started clearing the locked apartments. It was a long, slow process; it was well past lunch time when we had finally cleared all five floors of any lingering walkers and bagged up any useful loot we could find. All in all it was a surprisingly successful haul. The building actually wasn't overly infested. We realized when we reached the first floor that the two sets of glass front doors, the only entrance to the building other than a fire exit at the back, were still intact and the few walkers hanging around outside didn't seem the least bit interested in trying to break in. Lucky for us, because that meant that no one else had broken in to look for supplies and the walkers we were running into had probably been the residents, holing up in hopes of riding out this , the virus or whatever it was had still gotten to them. There weren't any humans left alive, though we found evidence in a couple apartments that not all of them had been turned, either.

I didn't know how to deal with death, especially my own. While we had been hunting and scavenging, our minds had been distracted, almost enough to forget that this would be our last time doing this. Now that we were done, there was an awkwardness between us. Things had never been awkward; tense and even hostile at times, yes, but never awkward. My only thought was to help these two deal with what had happened to me, and what was coming, and hopefully keep them safe after I was gone. It might seem silly that I keep harping on that, but it was all I could think about right then. I didn't deal with death; I ignored it. Kinda hard to ignore your own coming end, though. Maybe that's why I was so focused on the guys, because it provided me with a way to avoid dealing with my own thoughts and feelings on the subject. Hmm. Probably better not to psychoanalyze myself right now.

"So now what?" I asked. I had my arms and ankles crossed, tapping the toe of my boot against the floor. A part of me still thought making myself smaller could help me avoid the attention of others. Funny how childhood defense mechanisms stick with you. Looking past Suarez to the front glass doors, I noticed one of the walkers shuffling aimlessly outside glance in our direction. He looked away again, but I sensed a hesitation in his movements as his head turned in our direction again. If we weren't careful, we were going to start attracting attention. I turned back to the guys. Lawrence had his arms crossed and shoulders hunched like me, but he was looking off down the hall and seemed to be forcing himself to take deep breaths. I felt my eyes sting and took a deep breath, blinking furiously to maintain control. Damn my empathetic tear ducts! I rarely cried by myself, but as soon as someone else was crying, I would get all choked up. Suarez, instead, had fixed me a very serious look. I felt a little uneasy when I noticed the intensity with which he studied me.

"What?" I asked, cautious. Did I see the corner of his mouth twitch?

"I know what I want to do" he replied, leaving me in mystery for a moment. There was no doubt now that his eyes were sparkling with mischief. I knew some kind of joke was coming and squinted at him menacingly.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, but Lawrence might feel a little left out." We both glanced at Lawrence who had turned to us with a look of puzzlement that probably matched my own. I had always been slow on the uptake. "Unless you're into that kind of thing, I guess." And then I got it. Lawrence's face lit up with surprise and his eyes grew large and round. I laughed and shook my head. I knew he wasn't serious; Suarez would comment from time to time about a more intimate relationship between us, but he only did it to flatter me. It did the job and seemed to ease some of the tension in our little group. As if on cue, Lawrence's stomach reminded us that we had missed lunch. I hadn't eaten since dinner the night before. We all laughed again.

"I don't think anyone would mind if we pinched some of the food we found today and have ourselves a nice lunch before we head back," I suggested, to which both guys readily agreed.

After moving the bags of supplies from the first floor and blocking the stairwell door with a fridge from the apartment across the hall, we relocated to an apartment on the second floor, at the front of the building. I placed us there intentionally so I could keep a discreet eye on the building entrance. We ate ravioli and spaghetti-os cold, out of the can with some forks we had scrounged up. There were also a bottle each of bottom-shelf tequila and top-shelf whiskey that we decided wouldn't be missed, giving us another excuse to delay our return. At first we reminisced, me remembering some of the more sentimental times, like when the guys took care of me after my first kill and I was physically sick from the images playing over and over in my head. Or when I realized that I had begun to see them as family, rather than just tools for survival. Suarez, of course, pulled out some of the funnier moments. They probably wouldn't have seemed as funny if I had told them, but Suarez had the soul of a storyteller. Lawrence and I could barely breath, we were laughing so hard, especially after his imitation of me when they first met me, trying to look and sound tough and intimidating. He had his chest puffed out, shoulders back, this incredibly ugly scowl on his face, quoting line for line almost exactly what I had said. Obviously I had only succeeded in looking like a fool, but it didn't matter. The three of us had quickly become inseparable. It was a really nice moment and I was starting to feel a little better about everything, but then there was a lull. And as the lull stretched, we fell deeper into our own thoughts. I stared out the window, lost in my memories. For some reason, my thoughts strayed where I wouldn't allow them to earlier.

It was after Rick had finally relented and agreed for Lawrence, Suarez, and I to go on this supply run by ourselves. I slipped into the bedroom to collect what I would need from my pack, especially my machete, which lay on top, snugly within its sheath. What I hadn't expected was that Daryl would be stretched out on the bed taking a nap. I found myself wondering if he had slept as little as I had after the attack. If he had been on watch before the walker emerged from the closet, than he probably had slept even less than I had. I felt a little bad about how short I had been with him before, but I figured everyone was allowed a little rudeness when you lived in constant fear and stress. Everybody was wearing thin, including myself. I couldn't help but admire the way his biceps looked with his hands under his head that way. Even more surprising was how peaceful and gentle his face looked as he slept. I only knew the hard lines and frowns he wore during his waking hours. Curious, I glanced towards his pants. I wish I could say I was admiring his zipper, but it was what was underneath that interested me more. I mentally slapped myself across the face. _Get a grip!_, I berated myself. _Death's doorstep is a little late to be thinking about that! Jeez! Focus, girl._ Shaking my head, I knelt to gather my gear from my pack. The movement strained the muscles on my side that had been damaged. I hissed softly, shifting to ease some of the tension.

"Hershel can offer you something for the pain." His voice startled me, but when I looked over towards where he lay, he hadn't moved a muscle, eyes still closed. I noticed his face didn't have the slack, relaxed appearance anymore. Heat rose in my neck and face as I wondered if he realized how long I had stood there admiring him.

"He did," I said, clearing my throat. "I turned him down."

"I see." After he was silent a moment, I turned back to my pack and gathered what I needed. Standing back up, I realized he was still in the same position, but had his eyes open, not hiding the fact that he was watching me. His brow creased as he noticed the sheath snapped to my belt.

"Where are you goin'?" There was my temper flaring up again. My mouth opened before I could think twice.

"Rick gave us permission to go on a run to the building next door. That okay with you?" _Damn_. I winced inwardly. That guilt over being rude before sure had lasted long. _Ugh_. _Kiss your curiosity good-bye, 'cuz you definitely won't find out what he's carrying with an attitude like that!_ His eyebrows rose upwards a few inches, but his voice was even.

"Well, excuse me for asking. I was just curious." He closed his eyes and turned his face back towards the ceiling. I wanted to bang my head against the door frame in front of me. I was so stupid and proud sometimes. "Besides," he continued, "you don't need our permission anyways." I hovered near the door, not sure how to respond. Finally, I just gave up and turned to leave.

"Be safe." I laughed. I couldn't help it, but as soon as it was out, I wished I hadn't. I realized he was being sincere, but the fact was that I was already dead, so what did it matter if I was safe or not. Too late for that. He fixed me with a very stern look until I was so uncomfortable that I had to look away. He closed his eyes again as I tried to slip out the door.

"I'd offer to go with ya, but I'd rather catch some zzz's while I can." That made me smile a little and I could see the edges of his mouth twitch, similar to Suarez's when he's being funny. I shook my head and closed the door gently behind me.

I didn't like that I was thinking about a guy right now, but that was typical of me. I was a serial crusher, by which I mean that I always seemed to have an interest in some guy at all times. I hadn't had the luxury to do so since the world had ended, but I guess I was still as ridiculous about men as I had been before. I roused myself from my stupor and turned to see what the guys were up to. They were both staring at the floor from their respective seats, as lost in their thoughts as I had been. I didn't think there was any way to candy coat it, so I jumped right in.

"So, what do you think about Rick and his group?" I asked, studying their faces. Lawrence hesitantly answered first, eyeing me curiously, probably trying to figure out the sudden conversation starter. Suarez's face was stone as he watched me. I avoided eye contact with him, knowing he had me figured already.

"They seem nice enough, I suppose. I don't care much for that Phil guy, though."

"Well he's not technically a part of Rick's group," I responded. Suarez started shaking his head, staring at the floor again.

"Don't start."

"Don't start what?"

"I'm serious. Don't go there, Leesey."

"Don't go where? I'm confused." I looked from one to the other with, what I hoped was, a look of doe-eyed confusion.

"Damn it! Stop playing innocent." He fixed me with a hard glare. "We are not having this discussion." I sighed.

"Look, I have your best interest at heart, here, ok? I want you guys to be safe after...after I'm gone, and you know as well as I that more people are safer."

"How do you figure?" Lawrence asked. He kept his face blank, but the tone of his voice made it seem as if he might be more easily persuaded than Suarez.

"Well, you have more eyes to watch for danger, more people to keep watch when you're sleeping or not on the move, like we are now. More weapons being wielded if it comes to a fight. Mostly, there's less of a chance to be caught unawares or outnumbered by these things."

"And more mouths to feed, more personality quirks to learn to deal with, more drama between group members. Not to mention elderly, children, and injured who can't pull their weight, putting a burden on the rest of us. It's too much hassle and uncertainty." Suarez made a good argument, but I wasn't about to be silenced.

"Please, Suarez-"

"No! Stop pushing the issue!" He said, cutting me off. I was taken aback. I stared at him, shocked. He had never raised his voice with me before.

"Tony," Lawrence used our friend's first name, his voice calm, like you would use to calm an angry or scared dog. "Maybe it's something we can consider, huh? We don't have to decide right this second, and Leesey makes some good points." I shifted uncomfortably. I knew the tactic Lawrence was using, but at the same time, my anxieties wouldn't be calmed. There wasn't much time to put this off. I would be dead in 48 hours, tops.

"The time for this decision will be sooner than you think, and you guys need to know your answer when that time comes."

"We will, we'll talk about. Just not right now, while we've all had so much to drink." Lawrence finished off the tequila as if to punctuate his statement. Suarez stood suddenly, knocking his chair over backwards so forcefully that it made me jump. I saw Lawrence flinch out of the corner of my eye, as well.

"We were just fine before you came along, so don't act like you did us a huge favor by teaming up with us! We'll be just fine on our own again!" And with that, he stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. I sat there for a few minutes, staring after him, stunned. When I finally turned to look at Lawrence, I was just as surprised to see him staring at the ceiling, tears hovering in his eyes. He was trying so hard not to cry. It was the same trick I used to try to somehow reabsorb the tears before they spilled over; it rarely worked. A sharp pain stabbed my chest and I could feel my own eyes tear up in response. I wasn't good with emotion and I hated crying. We sat there, the tears silently rolling down our cheeks for a few minutes before I finally forced myself to put my hand on his knee. I hoped the gesture would be comforting, but instead the tears seemed to come more quickly for him and he opened his mouth to breath, turning his face away from me.

"I'm sorry," I choked out. He shook his head, his face unreadable.

"It's not fair," he whispered, brushing at his cheeks with the back of his hand. He covered the hand I had on his knee with his and gave it a small squeeze.

"I know it's not. I just wish I could make this less painful for you guys." He laughed, turning to look at me. His eyes were rimmed red, but the tears seemed to be slowing a little.

"That's not possible." I sighed in response, averting my eyes. I didn't know how to respond. Of course he was right.

"Aren't you scared?" he asked me, after awhile. This brought a new flood of tears to my eyes and I could feel my body start to tremble. I turned towards the window, embarrassed.

"I'm terrified," I gasped. "There's so much I still wanted to do with my life. It just feels so...anticlimactic to have it end like this. I mean, what was the point of everything I did before if this is how it ends?" He shook his head.

"I don't know," he whispered. Closing my eyes, I took a slow, deep breath, forcing the muscles in my body to relax, trying to release the tension I was holding. It was an old meditation technique I had carried with me from undergrad. The calm washed over me as I regained control of my emotions. "What are some things you still wanted to do?" he ventured. I gave a short laugh, drying my face with my shirt.

"Well, there is one thing you know I missed out on." The skin between his eyebrows creased slightly as he thought about it, but it only took a moment until recognition lit his face. He smirked.

"I would offer to help with that, but you really are like a sister to me and that would just be creepy." We both laughed. I'm sure he was as glad as I was that the crying was done. Some of the tears still clung to my lashes and my face felt tight where the tears had left salty trails down my cheeks and chin. I blew my nose in my shirt, not caring for niceties anymore. Lawrence followed suite. Figuring it was time to go look for the third member of our posse, I stood and stretched, being ginger with my side. We didn't have to look far, since Suarez was just outside the apartment door, reclining against the wall. His face was stoic as usual, when he wasn't storytelling, but his lashes seemed damp and the whites of his eyes were a little gray. He glanced down and must have seen the signs that I had been crying, too, because without a word he pulled me to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my face against his warm chest, closing my eyes for a moment. This was nice. I felt safe, protected. I hadn't felt that way in almost a year. He kissed the top of my head.

"I love you." I sighed, hugging him tighter.

"I know, but thank you for saying it."

I don't know how long we stood like that, Lawrence hovering nearby, when we heard a muffled crash. It sounded like breaking glass. I flew past Lawrence, back into the apartment and over to the living room window. Throwing it open, I stuck my head and chest out to get a look at the front doors. The first set of glass doors were broken and around a dozen zombies were pushing through them and against the second set. There was no telling how long those would hold up under their weight. Lawrence and Suarez were right behind me when I ducked my head back into the room.

"What happened? Are they through the doors?" Lawrence asked, his already large eyes wide with concern. I pushed past them without answering and ran for the door.

"Come on!" I called over my shoulder as I raced down the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye, as I threw open the stairwell door, I could see them following at a full sprint. Half-running, half-falling down the stairs, I tried to formulate a plan. Abandoning our hard-earned spoils was not even a question. We needed some way to slow down the horde while we moved everything over to the roof of our own building. The bags of goodies were still scattered along the halls of every floor but the first, which meant we needed to buy ourselves a little time. I bruised my hand, slamming into the door for the first floor, but I didn't care. I paused long enough to glance through the crack in the door to make sure it was still safe before throwing it open. Suarez caught it on the backswing and held it open while we gawked at the walkers against the front doors.

"What do we do?" he asked, not even winded. I was having trouble catching my breath, which was strange since I had hardly exerted myself yet.

"Find something heavy to brace the door from the inside." The guys didn't hesitate in rushing across the hall into the first apartment to see what they could find that might work. I stationed myself as look-out, giving myself an excuse to breathe. I watched anxiously for any sign of weakness in the second set of doors, but they seemed secure so far. What had attracted their attention to this building now, of all times? They had completely avoided it to this point. I could only figure that myself and the guys were the cause, but, racking my brain, I couldn't remember anything we had done that would have drawn them in.

"What about a refrigerator?" Suarez asked, peaking at from around the doorframe.

It took several minutes of maneuvering to get the fridge in place, but we felt confident that it would hold. None too soon, either, because we could see the doors starting to bow inwards as we blocked off the first floor. Now let me tell you, exercise was a dirty word for me before the world went to shit; I definitely had some reserves when times got leaner. Having no one to rely on but yourself, and constantly on the run from people wanting to kill you, you learn to love your muscles. And I did. I could run with the best of them, short sprints or long endurance runs, it didn't matter. But even my longest run didn't compare to the exhaustion I felt that day. I lost count of how many trips I was taking up and down those stairs, sometimes as many as four flights at a time, and then right back down for the next load. We knew we couldn't dally, but even Lawrence and Suarez were starting to slow down. I was the worst. My legs and arms were so tired that they felt weak and shaky. I was gasping for breath and thought I was going to lose my meager lunch. At first Suarez would call out encouragement to me when nearby, but he couldn't keep it up for long.

During one of the trips across the little bridge between the roofs, I noticed Daryl emerging from the stairwell of the building we were camping out in. He raised his eyebrows as I dropped the pillow cases I'd been carrying.

"Need some help?" he asked. I opened my mouth to reply, but ended up in a coughing fit instead. I managed to nod, though. He must have caught on to my sense of urgency, because he brushed past me, bounding with energy.

"What floor?" he called up to me.

"Fifth," I gasped between breaths. We were almost done, and then we could rest. Two more trips and we had succeeded in moving our haul to the other rooftop. Dropping my last load, I turned to see Daryl looking around for something. I watched him, my brain a bit sluggish after all that exertion. It clicked for me when he snatched up a length of heavy chain: he wanted to secure the rooftop door. Catching up to him, I grabbed the other end of the chain and helped him pass it through the door handle a couple of times and wrap it around some sturdy metal braces around the corner. He connected one end back to a link on the previous round with a carabiner I had clipped to my belt loop. It wouldn't hold for long, but it should be enough to keep them inside until we had vacated the other roof.

A few minutes dismantling the floor of the roof-bridge and we had earned our well needed breather. Daryl was barely sweating, having come late to the game, but I was doubled over, hands on my knees, gasping in the cool air. My arms and legs felt like jelly. Exhausted, I flopped myself down on the concrete and rolled over, arms and legs splayed in every direction. I didn't care. I just closed my eyes and focused on breathing, on easing the burning in my chest and throat. I could hear the guys breathing heavily, as well. There was a light breeze blowing across the roof and it felt good on my damp skin. I heard a sharp gasp and looked over in time to see Lawrence lurch away from us, towards the edge of the roof. The sounds of retching quickly reached our ears. I gagged and almost lost it myself. Having regained some control of my limbs, I rolled over towards a small brick shed and sat, leaning back against its cool, shaded wall.

Suarez groaned loudly as he got back to his feet and collected our friend off the concrete where he lay after losing his lunch. Pulling one of Lawrence's arms across his shoulders, he supported him as they walked towards the stairwell door.

"You need help with him?" He paused at the sound of my voice, readjusting the way he was holding him up.

"No," he said, glancing towards me. "He's never been one to hold his liquor well, even in the best of circumstances. He just needs to sleep it off." I pretended not to see the sharp look Daryl gave me. He was hovering between me and the walkway we had used to reach the other building.

"I'll start bringing the bags down, then." He shook his head.

"I'll let the others downstairs know to come up and grab the supplies. You need to do something about that bleeding or that chain won't hold them back for long once they catch a whiff of that." Looking down, I noticed for the first time that my shirt was soaked through with bright red blood, causing it to stick to my side. Without a second thought, I whipped my shirt off and peeled off the ineffective bandage to get a better look. The scab that had started to form over the wound was cracked wide open around the edges and a couple times across the middle. The resulting blood was smeared where the shirt had been absorbing it and now trickled freely down my side. I wadded up my shirt and pressed it against the wound, hoping it would staunch the flow. I glanced up, realizing Daryl was still standing uncomfortably close, watching me with a carefully guarded face. I flinched at the bolt of pain that ran through me from the wound in my side. The way that I was having to twist in order to hold the shirt in place was causing the muscles in that side to shift and stretch, putting tension on the edges that were already raw and bleeding. Daryl crouched down beside me, pressing his hands against the wadded up shirt so I didn't have to. I was loathe to acknowledge the way my heart sped up at his nearness, especially under his hard, scrutinizing gaze.

"What?" I snapped, shifting into a less painful position. There was no easy way for me allow him access to my side without moving my arm out of the way, so I ended up resting my hand on the closer of his arms. His arm was bare against mine and I could almost feel the heat passing through that casual contact. I had my hackles up, waiting for the lecture I could sense coming, but apparently not enough to ignore the hard lines of his forearm against the tender skin of my own or the swell of his bicep under my palm. I could sense a stirring in me at that touch. I was glad that my face was still flushed from the earlier exertion so he couldn't see me blush in embarrassment. All of this I registered in his moment of hesitation, deciding how best to come at me with whatever was on his mind.

"You were drinking," he stated, his face carefully guarded. I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, please. I've been drinking since I started college, and that was almost 8 and a half years ago."

"It's not your drinking that bothers me. It's that you would put both of them at risk, too, because it's obvious neither of them are sober." I squinted my eyes as I studied his face. He was good at masking his thoughts and feelings. I had always envied people who could do that. I, on the other hand, was as easy to read as a large-print novel.

"You must not have a very high opinion of me if you think I would ever willingly put those two in harm's way." It was his turn to pause, studying me.

"I can smell it on you. It's on your breath when you speak." I leaned towards him slightly, challenging him.

"Am I acting any differently right now than I usually do? You say you know the guys were drunk. Is it so easy for you to read the alcohol in my own bloodstream?" He didn't answer, never taking his eyes from mine, but I could swear I saw a flicker of doubt break through his facade. I smirked, leaning back against the wall again. "I lipped the bottle."

"You what?" he asked, frowning.

"I used my lips to keep the alcohol in the bottle while making it seem like I was drinking just as much as the two of them."

"Why would you need to pretend like you were drinking?"

"I wanted them to relax. I thought that maybe I could help them process what had happened, what will happen as I continue to get sicker. That I could somehow make this easier on them."

"And did it work?" I sighed, looking away.

"Doubtful." We were both quiet for a beat. I could feel his eyes on me, and when he answered, his voice was unusually gentle.

"You don't seem like a person who could be easily forgotten." His statement shocked me. Had I found a chink in his armor? Was there something more to this man than the obedient side-kick I had taken him for?

With a harsh screech, the stairwell door was thrown open and several of Daryl's companions jogged through, taking in the eclectic collection of pillow cases and trashbags, loaded down with our haul from next door. Rick, the first one through the door, glanced around the roof before spotting us in the shadow of the little shed. He didn't comment on my state of undress or how near to one another we were, but rather turned to shout down to someone still on the stairs to get the doctor, Hershell. I protested at first, but Daryl insisted that I at least needed some fresh bandaging. Hands as full as they could manage, Rick and the others disappeared through the door, giving Daryl and I a quick moment alone, though I'm sure not intentionally. I couldn't stop thinking about that last comment he had made.

"So what's your story?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"How'd you end up with these guys? Rick and Lorrie and the others." He shrugged at first, making a show of moving my blood soaked rag of a shirt so he could see how badly it was still bleeding. The blood had slowed, my skin making an effort to repair the scab I had disturbed. And then he told me, still not looking at me, about meeting up with this small group of survivors, following his brother's lead in everything. He told me, too, about Rick showing up while Daryl was away and what had transpired between Meryl, his brother, and Rick. I sat there, stunned, as I listened. He had a brother, like me, who could be out there somewhere alive, but with no way to get back to him.

As if my body was acting on its own and I was just an innocent witness, I leaned forward, crossing the small distance between us, and pressed my lips against his. At first they were hard and unyielding and I could feel him tense up at the touch. But then the tension in him eased and he pushed his mouth harder against mine. His kiss was tentative, as if he was waiting for any sign that I had changed my mind. But I didn't. I had never been kissed in a way that made me want more until that moment, and I liked it. It was obvious that he had plenty of experience and knew what he was doing. It was a nice surprise, since the guys I had known in college had been so inept and disappointing. After a few chaste kisses, I parted my lips to pull his bottom lip between them a little. I hadn't moved the hand that was already touching him, but I snaked my other up his shoulder to his neck. The feel of the tight, strained muscles sent a quiver through my belly. As I moved, so did he, running his fingertips slowly across the swell of my breasts above my bra. My nipples hardened against the fabric and I had to stifle a gasp. I was nervous about having him realize just how turned on I was, but when his tongue flicked across the tip of my own through my partially open lips, I opened my mouth wide without a second thought. With that invitation, his hand slipped around my side and pressed against my back, pulling me closer to him as his tongue entered my mouth.

I barely had time to register the taste of him and the exquisite way he touched my tongue with his when there were loud voices in the stairwell. We shot apart like we had been charged with electricity. His hand jerked against the bite in my side painfully at the same time I smacked my head against the brick wall. It didn't hurt, but I flinched anyways in anticipation of the pain. He flinched as well, adjusting his pressure on the shirt pressed to my side.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as Hershel emerged from the stairwell, closely followed by the rest of their group, eager to bring the rest of the supplies down below. Daryl immediately regained his cool composure, seeming not the least bit affected by what had just happened. I wished I was so controlled in that moment. I was sure Hershell could read the incident all over my face as he examined and patched me back up. Daryl left me in the doctor's capable hands and helped the others take the last of the supplies downstairs. The moment had passed and I was more than a little disappointed that it had.


End file.
